Fragile Ice
by CarmenTakoshi
Summary: [AthrunxYzak, oneshot] This ice creeping into his corrupt soul was a punishment for his lifelong sin. But when all that he had wanted was a glimpse of happiness' glow, is he destined now...to die?


A/N: Hello again, everyone! Now I know a lot of you are probably swearing at me in your heads for not updating _Faith _or _NOTV _, but be assured, I will get to it! And I think I've said that for my last few one-shots, so I'll shut up soon. Now...unusual pairing in this one, I must say. I'm not sure how it got into my head in the first place, but once I started writing it, it didn't seem to fit with any oher characters. So please have a happy reading, and leave a nice review! I really like most of the reviews I get for my one-shots. I'm glad people are actually reading them. :) No one word reviews, please, and enjoy! -salutes and poofs out of sight-

Disclaimer: Hajime Yatate and Yoshiyuki Tomino own Gundam SEED, not Carmen Takoshi.

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_**Fragile Ice  
one-shot by Carmen Takoshi**_

"Bastard! _Bastard!_"

It was raining outside. The drops pounded against the roof in an insane dance, drowning out most of the curses issuing from the house, but at every few words came a cry so piercing that even nature could not hide its ire.

"_Bastard!_"

And the ire's name was Yzak Jule.

How is it that every scene, however mundane, would always transform into this? Why did every petty act seem a crime in his eyes, a cause to send spite forth into a world already troubled? Was there not enough hurt to last Earth a million years, and then a million more?

Why was his anger so sharp, his wicked tongue as swift as a hunting snake? Was it a curse, a fault coursing so deep that no matter how he tried, he could not surmount it? It was madness. A flaming, unforgiving madness rearing in his chest, blocking out even breath and only freeing the animalistic fury that was the vice of so many men.

Why was he still screaming? He did not even understand his own words anymore. What was this? A song, some twisted, discordant song? Surely even he could not compose something so horrid, so full of evil melody that there was nothing left to hear?

It was stifling, suddenly. His voice halted in his throat as though seeking to choke him. What was happening? His anger was trying to burst through him, and a dreadful moan escaped him amid his transports of rage, and he choked again. He could not breathe..

The song was falling, and slowly, shame began to burn in his gut; the awful climax to an awful tune. And then, silence. The song died as quickly as it had been born, but the quietness was now ringing as loudly as the noise had.

"You…bastard…"

Who was he speaking to now, as he sank to his knees? The harsh cold of the floor was a comfort compared to the sear in his chest. The tears froze in his eyes but would not fall nor fade, no matter how far he titled his head or how sorely he wished them to leave. It was a weakness. No, not the tears, but the fact that he was not acknowledging them as any human being would. Was he even human anymore?

Such an important question it was, yet even he could not answer it. Was it human, to feel cold and dead inside when one's exterior was bursting with rage? What was he trying to do? To prove that he could feel anything other than cold? To show that he too could feel and think, be hurt and cry?

Why was he crying?

The room felt vast, so vast that he feared of being swallowed, to disappear forever. Like a child, he brought his knees up from under him, hugged them and buried his face in them, and only then did the tears consent to fall, wetting his face, but he did not care. The ice was sharp, piercing him from inside as though in reprimand. He was weak, and the cold was growing. He was crying, crying for all the pains that he had felt, crying for all the pains of the world. A sword of cold, going through him with its icy breath. Make it melt…

_Oh Lord…oh God, please…make it melt…_

It hurt so much. Why was he condemned to feel this way? Was it a punishment? Surely he had sinned. Surely even God would not save him anymore. Surely the cold would consume him, and they would find him soon, frozen with tears of his eternal grief shining sadly on his face.

_It hurts…oh God…it hurts…stop…make it stop! Make it stop!_

"_Athrun!_"

Was there a tremble in his voice, as he cried out the name? Was he breaking apart, skewered on the end of the icy spear like some dumb animal on a spit?

"Athrun! _Athrun!_"

It was the same tone that he had used before. The same rage still laced his words like fragile wine, and yet he did not feel it. All he felt was the pain, his fingers growing numb, his legs seizing up from the cold. His heartbeat slowing, carefully, inexorably. He screamed at the realization.

He was going to die tonight. He as going to die in a snowfall of frozen tears, from the ice creeping up his limbs. Wildly, mindlessly, he scraped at the walls and the floor, but they were all of ice, coated with it, and all it did was chip into his hands, under his nails, through his skin and his blood. It was freezing him, and he yelled, again and again, but nothing met him but the echo of his voice.

_Athrun! Make it stop…_

It was so cold. Where was it coming from? Why could he not get out? Why was no one coming to save him? Save him, free him from this self-made prison of his own corrupt soul!

He was so tired now. Why was he fighting? The end was inevitable, just like the laws said. The end is nigh, and it is our own fault, for the distorted lives that we lead. He slumped back, moaning at the ice in his bones. The room was fading.

Was that light, under his lashes? He could feel icicles clinging to them. They twinkled in his gaze, mocking. He closed his eyes, willing them away, willing everything away. Just make it stop, and let me die. Make it melt, and let me drown in its sorrowful tears and mine.

_No._

"No?"

_No. Not Yzak._

I _was _light, coming slowly towards him. Nothing but a spot of fire, like a candle flame, but growing until Yzak could feel it standing before his own crumpled form. It knelt, and it was warm. It touched him, and he gasped, eyes fluttering open as though from a dream. Why was it so subdued, when he was so frenzied with his cold, silent anger?

Yzak felt a smile from it, and realized who it was. He felt a palm on his face, and the icicles were melting away, leaving wetness on his pale cheeks which was wiped away by that same hand. Why was it so gentle? He must not deserve it. No, they were mistaken.

_Not Yzak._

There were arms now, encircling him as it sat beside him. A warm chest. He was pulled close to it. The tears were gone, evaporated by some miracle. It was suddenly so pleasant, as though the cold that had plagued his limbs had fled to some distant, nameless land, giving a silent scream as its eyes were burned through by the light of the sun.

Yzak slept. He did not know for how long, but before his consciousness drifted off he thought he heard words, and gentle laughter, and a touch on his lips, but he could not clearly discern any of them, and dismissed it, falling into a deep slumber not haunted by dreams of malevolent songs or ice-cold blades.

When he awoke, the light was gone. No, it was not. It was within him now. He could feel it, pulsing in his chest like a lovely memory, or a smile. Like mirth pouring from a lover's lips.

He looked up, meaning to thank the savior in whose arms he had slept, but the words never left his mouth. Athrun was sitting there, holding him like he had always wanted to be held, but there was no warmth or light from him anymore. He was sleeping as well, sleeping with his eyes closed loosely and his lips parted in a smile, lips still rosy with the imprint of a kiss.

Then Yzak understood the words that he had heard and touch that he had felt. And as he was brushing his pale fingers over his lips and his own, a single, warm, glistening tear fell, but even its purity could not efface the fragility of the first kiss, nor the words that would resonate through the bowels of time.

_Not Yzak._

_Take me instead._


End file.
